


By Your Hand

by youllbeadentist



Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Dream Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Wet Dream, fun fact: i started this six months ago and only just finished it last night lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 13:12:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10742388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youllbeadentist/pseuds/youllbeadentist
Summary: "I'm not sure if it's love anymore / But I've been thinking of you fondly for sure" - Los Campesinos!, 'By Your Hand'Moritz's mixed-up feelings towards his best friend leave him with an unusual variation of his old dream.





	By Your Hand

Moritz opened his eyes and knew exactly where he was.

It was his classroom; the same one he went to every day. The desks and chairs neatly lined up in rows, the blackboard blank of writing, the teacher's desk foreboding in the corner, the lectern unoccupied. And yet something was fundamentally different to it. He was alone in a place usually bustling with life; that itself felt strange. But more than that, the corners of the room seemed to buzz, violent with non-action, a vibrating noise Moritz could not hear but could imagine. The air felt thicker than normal, more present. It was a dream; he was asleep, and yet this did not comfort him in the slightest. He knew exactly what dream this was.

He braced himself for the faint rustling noise that would confirm his suspicions. He sat very still for a second, for two seconds, for three four five seconds until it came to him. The sound of fabric behind the teacher’s desk. _Right on schedule_ . He stood up slowly, half against his own will, his knees cracking as though he had not stood up for a while.  He began to walk towards the desk in the sort of jumbled slow-walk one does in dreams. When he had done this the first few times, an anxiety had pierced him, followed by a morbid curiosity. _What on earth could be back there?_ Now he walked with a dejected sense of duty. _Another day, another sheet to wash, I suppose_. He put a hand on the cold wood of the desk, exhaling lightly in expectation.

He could see the legs in his mind before they appeared. Their blue striped stockings and teasing garters felt as though they were engraved behind his eyelids, which is why it surprised him when what he saw was not that. They were legs, for certain, but not the ones he usually saw. They wore no shoes, instead having white socks that stretched up the calf just below the knee. The socks matched his own. In fact, Moritz could just see the hem of a pair of black shorts, just like the ones of his school uniform! Were these even female legs at all? He took a step back in his confusion, and the owner of the legs let out a small chuckle, wiggling the toes almost teasingly. With this the pieces came together for Moritz. He knew that laugh; he’d know it anywhere. He’d heard it regularly for as long as he could remember. He walked back towards the desk, his heart beginning to pound, and called out to the person whose face he could not see.

“Melchi? Is that you back there?”

Moritz heard the laugh again, louder than before and ringing like a school bell. He had been right in his guess; Melchior’s head popped up from behind the desk, face flushed and smiling. He had been lying on his back on a row of sideways chairs, waiting for Moritz. He kept his legs propped up on the desk. Moritz noticed then that Melchior’s suspenders were slipped down and his shirt was unbuttoned, a small sliver of his chest visible from behind it. He had seen Melchior shirtless before, and yet the sight of it filled him with some unnamed emotion and he looked away in shame. “You guessed right, Moritz,” Melchior said, as though it were not obvious, and tucked his legs back under the desk. “You're very bright!”

Moritz laughed, thankful yet unsure how to respond to the unprompted compliment. “Thank you!” Once the sound died out, he stared at his best friend with a vague confusion. What was Melchior doing in this dream, of all dreams? Moritz furrowed his brow and frowned before speaking again. “Why are you here?”

This seemed to throw Melchior for a bit of a loop. “What do you mean? Why am I here in this classroom?”

Moritz shook his head quickly. “No. Why are you in my dream?” Melchior didn’t answer straight away. Moritz began to worry in the slightest. Was there some sort of dream rule that you can’t tell people in a dream that it’s a dream? His worries were thankfully abated as Melchior smiled at him.

“Why don’t you tell me? It’s your dream after all.” His grin tilted to one side and transformed into a bit of a smirk. “Have you been thinking about me?”

Though Melchior’s tone remained casual and non-suggestive, his words sent a shot of embarrassment through Moritz’s veins in the double entendre he got out of them. He _had_ been thinking about Melchior -  in the multiple contexts that could imply. For the last few weeks, dreams like this one had plagued Moritz, filling his brain full to burst with uncomfortable thoughts and disrupting his sleep. His schoolwork started to suffer as well, and after falling asleep in class and receiving a crueler than usual punishment from Herr Sonnenstich he had gone to Melchior for advice. Melchior understood; Melchior always understood. He'd explained to Moritz what was happening to him, and why, even offering to write an essay explaining every detail - which Moritz was thankful for, being too mortified by the whole process to carry a face to face conversation. Even more helpful was that Melchior had shown him how to keep his distressing dreams away. It turned out to be fairly simple: All he had to do was...what was the word Melchior had used again? _Masturbate_. Touch himself, in simpler terms.

And that’s what he had done; slinking up to his room nearly every night, locking his door behind him and leaning into a pillow so not to alarm his parents. In the beginning he hadn't thought much of anything when he did it. But as of late, Melchior kept coming to mind; Moritz would close his eyes and see Melchior’s face, the gazes they shared throughout the day, his hand on Moritz's thigh that one time in gym class. He thought about how it would feel if Melchior's hand were wrapped around him instead, if that would feel different. He wasn't entirely sure why he was thinking about these things, or if Melchior thought about him in that sort of way, but he didn't really question it. Whatever the case, Melchior’s advice had certainly helped keep his dreams away; he hadn’t had one since their conversation. At least, until now.  “Oh,” Moritz said as the gears began to turn in his mind. “You’re here because of...because of what I thought about last night, I suppose.”

The night before was the first time that Moritz’s thoughts had shifted from memories to fantasies. His mind had conjured up an image of Melchior kneeling over him on his bed, running his hands down Moritz’s body at an agonizingly slow pace before finally reaching under the waistband of his drawers to touch him where he really wanted. The thought had driven him mad at the time, nearly making him scream into his pillow as he came, but once everything was over and done with he felt guilty. Part of him wanted to tell Melchior what he had done; a larger part was too mortified to say anything. “You want me to take care of you, don’t you, Moritz?” Melchior’s voice rang out, snapping Moritz from his fog.

“I-what?” He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

“That’s what you’re talking about, right? You’ve been touching yourself and pretending it’s me.”

Moritz’s face went entirely red. “Y-Yeah.”

Melchior grinned at him, and he lowered his gaze, embarrassed. “God, Moritz, you’re so cute. Come on, get up on the desk.”

Before Moritz could fully comprehend the request he was in motion, awkwardly hopping up onto the top of the desk and hanging his legs over Melchior’s side. Looking straight into his eyes, Melchior slowly reached out both his hands and put them on either side of Moritz’s waist. He slipped his fingers under Moritz’s shirt and rubbed circles on his skin with his thumbs. “What are you doing?” Moritz asked, shivering at the sensation.

“I’m touching you,” Melchior explained casually, running his hands up Moritz’s torso. “This is what you want, right?” Moritz frowned slightly, confused.

“I thought you meant - Ah!”

He began to answer when Melchior suddenly slipped his left hand between Moritz’s legs. Melchior grinned up at him as he began to rub his palm into Moritz's crotch. “This is more like it, huh?” Moritz nodded quickly, trying to catch his breath. Melchior moved his hand in a slow rhythm as the other one reached upwards on Moritz's chest to brush against one of his nipples. Moritz inhaled sharply and bucked his hips into Melchior's hand. Melchior paused for a second, and Moritz quickly grew self-conscious.

“S-Sorry.”

“Don't apologize,” Melchior replied quickly, his voice breathy and coarse. “Spread your legs for me, Moritz.”

Swallowing hard, Moritz obliged. Melchior abandoned Moritz's chest and brought both hands down, stroking him urgently through his knickerbockers as he fumbled with the button on the waistband. Moritz’s breath hitched and he let out a small moan. He realized he had been sitting on his hands the entire time, and he shifted slightly to free them and help Melchior with his button. Once it was undone, Melchior slipped Moritz’s knickerbockers to his knees, running one hand lightly over the bulge in Moritz's drawers before pulling those down as well. Moritz gasped as the air of the room hit his skin. Melchior stared at him for a moment, running his eyes up and down his friend's body. He wrapped one hand around the base of Moritz's cock, making the other boy shiver. Melchior slowly began to move his hand up and down, looking Moritz in the eyes. “How does that feel?”

It felt _fantastic_. The sensation of an unfamiliar hand on Moritz's body sent shockwaves through him, ten times more intense than when he did this on his own. Unable to properly form words, he moaned out as Melchior began to pick up the pace. “Ahhhh...M-Melchi…” He closed his eyes, gripping the side of the desk desperately. He could feel himself coming undone -- there was a tension building in him he knew all too well, a knot forming in his stomach as he rocked his hips up needily into Melchior’s skilled hand.

He knew the end was near when he heard a second set of panting and moaning join his. His waking mind could not possibly have created what he saw as he opened his eyes; Melchior had put his free hand down his own knickerbockers and begun to touch himself, his breath growing ever so laboured. His face was flushed bright red, and his eyes rolled back into his skull as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. God, he was even _drooling_. Moritz couldn’t describe how seeing Melchior like that made him feel in words -- all he knew was that it made his cock throb almost painfully under Melchior as he gasped, feeling himself on the verge of orgasm. “M-Melchior, I think I’m--!”

Moritz awoke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. He lay very still for a while, letting his body sort itself out as his head reeled with the aftershock of his dream. _Oh, God._ It was one of the most intense dreams he had ever had, and he swallowed hard as he felt the all-too-familiar stickiness between his legs. Shifting his arm ever so slightly, he was shocked as it hit another -- Turning to the side, he could make out Melchior’s silhouette next to him, sleeping, unaware of what Moritz had just gone through. _That’s right, I’m at Melchior’s house._

_...Oh, shit._


End file.
